Searching for Irene

  Cover image © Malgorzata Maj/Arcangel

  Cover design copyright © 2017 by Covenant Communications, Inc.

  Published by Covenant Communications, Inc.

  American Fork, Utah

  Copyright © 2017 by Marlene Bateman

  All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced in any format or in any medium without the written permission of the publisher, Covenant Communications, Inc., P.O. Box 416, American Fork, UT 84003. The views expressed within this work are the sole responsibility of the author and do not necessarily reflect the position of Covenant Communications, Inc., or any other entity.

  This is a work of fiction. The characters, names, incidents, places, and dialogue are either products of the author’s imagination, and are not to be construed as real, or are used fictitiously.

  ISBN 978-1-52440-408-6

  To my dear Kaylee

  Acknowledgments

  Many thanks to Holly Horton, Leah Hansen, Monica Miles, Jennie Stephens, and John Wells, who read the manuscript and gave many helpful suggestions.

  I also want to thank Melanie Trottier, Angela Sullivan, Stella Chase, Gail Keeler, and TaLonnie Sullivan.

  And thank you—as always—to my dear husband, Kelly, for his love and support.

  Last but not least, a special thank-you to my extremely talented editor, Stacey Turner.

  Chapter One

  The tallest parts of the mansion—fanciful turrets and an astonishing circular tower—were visible only in glimpses Anna caught between lofty oaks and towering pines as her cab wound along a dusty road through the knolls and hills of eastern Virginia.

  When the cab turned up the long driveway lined with dogwood trees in magnificent full bloom, Anna Coughlin reached for her handbag, gripping it with a tension that had knotted her muscles ever since getting on the train bound for Richmond.

  This vast estate stood on a hilltop, like a castle—like the center of the world—and she craned her neck to better view the starkly impressive gray-stone mansion of Ashton Hall—where she hoped to be hired. With its arched, leaded windows and slate roof with numerous chimneys, the house rivaled pictures she’d seen of castles in Europe. Now that she was closer, Anna could see the round tower was fitted with a peaked roof.

  Instructing the driver to wait, she climbed out, patted her hat in case it was askew, then smoothed her gray suit with gloved hands in hopes of presenting a professional appearance. Anna licked her dry lips. She had no confidence that she was clever enough or bold enough to pull this off, but she had to try.

  Her eye was drawn by a tall man—more than six feet—who came from the direction of an immense red-and-white building that lay south and a little behind the house. Was everything about this place bigger than normal? Since the man was striding toward her so purposefully, Anna stopped and waited. As he drew near, Anna noted his deep-set eyes were as black as his hair. His skin was tanned, his thin, long-fingered hands brown and strong.

  “Miss Coughlin?” He stretched out a hand and shook hers quite firmly, but there was no warmth in his eyes. “I’m Tyler Richardson. My father informed me only this morning that he’d asked Acer Secretarial Services to send someone out. Unfortunately, your services are not needed after all. If I had known sooner, I would have called and saved you a trip.” A touch of arrogance marked his manner, as though he had long been accustomed to command those around him.

  “Your father called only last week to have someone come and get his financial affairs in order,” Anna blurted in dismay. “May I ask what caused him to change his mind?”

  A fleeting glimpse of discomfiture crossed Mr. Richardson’s face. “I wasn’t consulted about his wanting to hire another secretary. My father isn’t in good health, and the doctor has advised us to minimize anything that could cause him to worry. The last thing we need is someone coming in and making a muddle of things.”

  His words kindled a fire that glinted in Anna’s eyes. How dare he make such an assumption? It was difficult to hang on to her temper, but there was too much at stake to let his boorishness sidetrack her. “I assure you that I’m not in the habit of making muddles. On the contrary, estate owners who are troubled over their financial affairs find that setting their business dealings in order lessens their worries substantially. My work is to organize and arrange materials that are awash in chaos and disorder.” Anna glanced at the tall, arched door, which was made of oak and studded with massive nails. “Since I’m here, I’m sure you won’t mind if I keep my appointment. After all, your father is the one who requested my services. I’m sure he’s expecting me.”

  It took a second or two for him to take this in. “Come in, then,” Mr. Richardson muttered ungraciously, opening the door bordered by tall stained-glass windows. She crossed into a foyer with an immense crystal chandelier glimmering overhead and a plush red-and-black Aubusson rug underfoot.

  Anna followed him down the hallway. The walls were peppered with oil portraits of people she assumed were ancestors. Most appeared austere and wore intense expressions. To the right was a wide, curving staircase. Sconces lined the walls on either side, and Anna wondered how recently they had held burning candles instead of the single lightbulbs that now stood behind the glass shields. Although all cities had electricity now, not all rural locations had yet laid power lines.

  Mr. Richardson turned right down another hall then paused to give a warning. “We do our best to see he doesn’t get upset.” Anna nodded. Message received. He opened the door then swept his arm inward, inviting her inside with a faintly derisive gesture.

  Putting on her best smile, Anna crossed the richly patterned carpet to the elderly man with the thatch of iron-gray hair. Walnut paneling around book-lined walls made the room dark in spite of the electric lighting. The older Mr. Richardson sat behind a cherry-wood desk that had been placed diagonally in the corner. He had the look of a country squire as he rose—a little stooped but tall, thin, and dignified.

  He reached out and shook her hand. “I’m Lawrence Richardson.”

  “How do you do? I’m Anna Coughlin.”

  The older man’s face was lined and weathered, but it was easy to see he had been a handsome man when he was younger—much like his son. His shrewd black eyes inspected Anna then went to his son, whose expression was as dark as the underside of a thunderhead.

  With a touch of amusement, he said, “I take it you’ve met my son Tyler.”

  Turning, she smiled at the younger man. “I have. It was a pleasure.”

  “Have a seat, won’t you, Miss Coughlin?” The older Mr. Richardson indicated a green leather chair by his beautifully hand-carved desk. The top was invisible, though, buried as it was under stacks of papers. A refectory table against the far wall was also piled high with papers, books, and folders. Underneath were more stacks of portfolios and books, many so high they were in real danger of toppling over.

  The older man cleared his throat. “I’ve talked to your manager. He tells me you’re highly qualified.”

  Mr. Tyrell had informed Anna that Mr. Richardson had grilled him over her qualifications, indicating he needed someone to not only finish his income taxes—which the last secretary had started—but someone who could organize the estate’s accounts. He preferred to hire a man and worried about a woman taking on such a big responsibility, but Mr. Tyrell explained that most of his employees were women now—partly due to men being scarce since the Great War and partly because so many women had entered the workforce. He had mollified Mr. Richardson by assuring him that he would inspect Anna’s work from time to time.

  Although the young Mr. Richardson made a grand show of indifference, standing with crossed arms as he gazed sightlessly out the window over the spreading green lawns, Anna
was sure he was listening to every word. This was her chance to impress him—and his father.

  “I graduated from William Smith College for Women in 1919 with a degree in finance. When income tax was ratified as the Sixteenth Amendment, I took a special course to receive the latest training. I have a great deal of experience with estate planning. Most of the estates I’ve worked for have had substantial assets, not just in property, machinery, and vehicles but in holdings and investments, and I imagine that is true of Ashton Hall.”

  One of Mr. Richardson’s grizzled eyebrows rose and stayed there as he glanced at his son. “See? I told you I’d make sure they sent an expert.” He turned back to Anna. “Sounds like you’re well up for the job.” Then his exuberance faded, and he grimaced. “I suppose all of this is going to cost me a pretty penny. The other person they sent started on my income tax but never finished. And my lawyer tells me the government is starting to crack down on those who don’t pay. Said if I didn’t do things properly, I could be in trouble.”

  “Acer has very reasonable rates,” Anna said reassuringly. “And you’re right; the government is starting to enforce payment of income taxes. However, Mr. Tyrell informed me your old secretary filed an extension, so that should give us time to finish things up without incurring a penalty. I’ll look over what’s been done to ensure you don’t pay any more than necessary.” Anna noticed that Tyler had turned and was listening closely. “I’ll also give you tips on how to stay organized during the next fiscal year and how to keep track of the right information so you can avoid costly mistakes. I’ll organize your estate’s finances and show you how to keep your records up-to-date with minimum effort on your part. Truly, my work will save you money in the long run.”

  “I like the sound of that. I’ve always handled our finances, but the past five or six years, I haven’t kept up with it because of ill health.” Mr. Richardson sounded regretful. “Got a ticky heart, the doctor says. I want to get the estate in order in case something happens.”

  The younger Mr. Richardson was unable to contain himself any longer. “I’ve told you that I’m perfectly capable of helping with the record keeping!”

  Fixing a keen eye on his son, Mr. Richardson thrust out his rather pugnacious chin. “Then why haven’t you done it? I’ve not kept it a secret that I haven’t been able to stay on top of it.” He snorted in exasperation. “You gave vague offers of help once the foals were sold or when you were done remodeling the stables or when breeding season was over, but nothing ever materialized. I’ve finally faced the fact that your heart lies with your horses, not with the estate’s accounting.”

  The younger man took a few steps closer and threw out his hands. “If you’d only let me, I could—”

  His father cut him off. “The time for that is past. I’m not putting things off any longer. I’m going to get the estate’s finances in order. Now.” There was a finality to his words that caused the younger Mr. Richardson, who had been about to argue further, to clamp his mouth shut.

  The older man turned to Anna. “I’m pleased with your qualifications. They’re far better than the woman we previously employed.”

  “Who left us in the lurch,” Tyler ground out. Standing tall, he wore a haughty expression. “How are we to know this one won’t do the same?”

  How irritating of him to refer to Anna as if she weren’t present! “Rest assured, I’ll stay until the job is done,” she told the old man firmly.

  The door opened. A man with dark-brown hair that showed a bit of unruly curl walked in. His resemblance to Tyler, with his wide shoulders and deeply tanned face, marked them as brothers, though he was shorter and more sturdily built. Apparently, both brothers spent a good deal of their time outdoors.

  Lawrence introduced his younger son, Kent Richardson. Kent’s expression was warm and interested as he held Anna’s hand in both of his. “You’re every bit as pretty as the last girl we had.”

  “This is so typical of you,” Tyler snorted. “What do looks have to do with her work?”

  “Nothing whatsoever,” Kent replied amiably. “But it doesn’t hurt to have an attractive face.” Letting go, he sat on the corner of the desk and addressed Anna. “Now, what have I missed?”

  “Your father would like me to finish preparing his income taxes; then we’ll work to get the estate’s accounts in order. As I told your father, I’ll set up a system which will allow him to more easily maintain detailed records on the estate, help control assets and liabilities, and determine the appropriate amount of depreciation for accounting and tax calculations.”

  “Ah! Bright as well as beautiful.” Kent looked at her in frank admiration.

  “Put those eyeballs back in your head,” his brother commanded.

  “Before we finalize arrangements, I want to go over a few things,” Mr. Richardson said. “As I told Mr. Tyrell, my health is dicey. I never know when I’ll have a good day or a bad one. You will be expected to work according to my capabilities. I’ll give you plenty of free time, but you may occasionally have to work early mornings or late at night. Because of this, we required the last secretary to live here at Ashton Hall, and I expect you to do the same.”

  Anna thoughtfully considered the matter.

  Her hesitation gave Tyler the opening he so obviously wanted. “You look worried, Miss Coughlin. If this is going to be a problem, we could get someone else.”

  “It’s no problem.”

  “You can start Monday morning, if that suits you,” the elder Mr. Richardson said.

  It was an answer to her prayers. “That will be fine, Mr. Richardson.”

  “Hold on a minute, Father,” Tyler protested. “Shouldn’t we know a little more about her?” Then he asked Anna, “How long have you worked for Acer?”

  His father objected before Anna could say a word. “I’ve already looked into her background, and she’s told us about herself. I must say, Tyler, if you’re going to continue to be so disagreeable, you can leave.”

  “It’s quite all right,” Anna assured him. Then she faced Tyler. “I’ve worked at Acer Secretarial Services in Lynchburg for six years. When Mr. Richardson called our Richmond office, there wasn’t anyone qualified to take on the job, so they contacted our office. They told me another secretary had been working here and left under mysterious circumstances.”

  “Irene Stroud was here about three months,” Kent said. “She ran off a little more than a week ago.”

  “When we didn’t hear from her after a few days, I requested someone else,” the senior Mr. Richardson explained.

  “Mr. Tyrell thought it very strange they hadn’t heard from her either,” Anna commented. “He heard the police suspected foul play.”

  “Nonsense,” Lawrence scoffed. “Why should they suspect foul play? Irene was a nice girl but flighty. When she didn’t show up, I contacted the police, who told us her mother had filed a missing-person report. It was inexcusable for Irene to leave without a note or an explanation.”

  “I don’t know why the police are looking into it because obviously Irene met someone she fancied and left.” Tyler shrugged.

  Anna’s brow furrowed. “But why wouldn’t she tell you?”

  “That’s something I’ve wondered about.” Tyler had a brooding look on his face. “Irene was confident and self-assured—the sort of person who wouldn’t have any problem telling us she was quitting. So why didn’t she?”

  Chapter Two

  Bright and early Monday morning, Anna arrived at Ashton Hall. Hauling her valise up the front porch steps, she found herself eager but also a little fearful of what the future might hold. Anna pulled off her blue suede beret with a quick, impatient gesture, letting the light April breeze fluff her shining fringe of brown bangs. Today there would be other members of this household to meet. She had to be careful not to make any slips and not to appear as anything other than what they believed her to be.

  The brilliant blues, greens, yellows, and reds in the stained-glass windows on either side o
f the door gleamed in the morning light. After a moment, the huge door was opened by a large, middle-aged woman who had a handsome, hawk-like profile. Her graying brown hair was caught in a tight bun at the back of her head.

  Thrusting out her hand, Anna said cheerfully, “I’m Anna Coughlin.”

  The woman looked Anna over with sharp, bright eyes. Her smile was so small as to be nonexistent, and her handshake was brief and restrained, as though waiting to decide about the newcomer. “I’m Mrs. Calder, housekeeper for Ashton Hall. Come in; we’ve been expecting you.”

  The woman offered no help with Anna’s two bags, and it took a bit of effort for Anna to hoist them inside onto the marble floor.

  Tyler Richardson came down the hall. “Good day, Miss Coughlin. I’m afraid my father isn’t feeling well. It might be better if you came another day.”

  She wasn’t about to haul her luggage back to town. “Why is that, Mr. Richardson? So you can have time to persuade your father not to have me come at all?”

  Tyler rubbed the back of his neck, looking a bit abashed. “You’re quick, Miss Coughlin. I did think that with a few more days, I might get him to see reason.”

  “The reasonable thing would be to let me help.”

  A little boy in knickers sauntered down the hallway toward them. His black, curly hair sprang back from his forehead, but his dark brows were drawn down in a scowl. He held a small tin lunch bucket, and from a strap, several books dangled.

  Looking up at her, the boy asked, “Why are you here?”

  “Evan, that wasn’t nice,” Tyler remonstrated. “This is Miss Coughlin. She may be doing some work with your grandfather.” He then introduced her. “Miss Coughlin, this is my son, Evan.”

  Anna held out her hand, but Evan ignored it, staring at her balefully. Tyler’s expression darkened as he leaned toward his son. “It’s polite to shake hands when meeting someone.”

  “I don’t want to.” Then Evan ran past her and out the door, leaving it open. He raced down the gravel driveway as a long carriage drawn by a single horse pulled to a stop. Evan climbed in through the rear door.